


Burgundy Interlude

by oldamongdreams



Series: Colours of Your Voice [2]
Category: Skyfall (2012) - Fandom
Genre: Angst, Eve and Q are bros, Gen, M/M, Not Really Character Death, Synesthesia
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-08
Updated: 2014-09-08
Packaged: 2018-02-16 03:11:04
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,409
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2253630
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/oldamongdreams/pseuds/oldamongdreams
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It would be poetic to say that time had slowed, that the world had taken a collective breath when the sound of the shots had come through the comms. But Q had just sucked in a breath and waited for a response he knew wouldn’t come before relaying the words no one wanted to hear. “Agent down. Proceed with the secondary protocol.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	Burgundy Interlude

            _The gunfire had come out of nowhere, sharp and red against the blackness surrounding Q, and he had scrambled backward until his back hit the wall, making himself as small a target as possible with his wrists still tied awkwardly. He could hear screaming, but not from in the room. The men in the room didn’t speak at all, simply aimed their weapons again and unloaded their bullets into him._

            Q woke gasping for breath, groping blindly for the man who should be sleeping next to him, should have woken the moment he had moved, before remembering that there was no one there. Not anymore.

            “Was just a dream,” he mumbled, slipping out of bed and turning on all the lights as he went. The words were hollow rather than comforting. It was a dream, in that Q hadn’t been the one in a warehouse, trapped and helpless. It wasn’t, in that Bond had. He had been away on a routine mission, and everything was fine until it wasn’t.

            It would be poetic to say that time had slowed, that the world had gasped for air when the sound of the shots had come through the comms. But Q had just sucked in a breath and waited for a response he knew wouldn’t come before relaying the words no one wanted to hear. “Agent down. Proceed with the secondary protocol.”

            (He hadn’t gone home that night, or the next. He didn’t turn off his comm unit either, just shoved an earplug in his free ear when the subdued flashes of grey mutterings became too much for him.)

            Q dressed mechanically, in his usual mess of color rather than the black some of the newer interns were wearing. They hadn’t been around long enough to understand how this worked, that Bond wasn’t gone, not _really._ That he’d disappeared for months before and let them all think he was death, the fucker. And if  Q had perhaps thought that sharing his bed and his life with the agent would make him come home sooner, well, he had only been gone a week. There was time. There was still time.

            “You look like shite,” Moneypenny said bluntly when he walked into his branch, sending his minions a hard look until they all scurried back to work.

            “Didn’t sleep well. Or have time for tea, for that matter.”

            Eve gave him a look, then sighed. “Movie night tonight. You’ll be there or I’ll invite myself over to yours and complain about the state of your apartment.”

            “For all you know, my apartment is in perfect condition,” Q said, a smile almost slipping onto his face.

            “Your hovel is probably in worse shape than you, and that’s saying something. Now shoo, you need tea and I have paperwork that’s calling to me. Tonight, don’t forget.”

            “I won’t,” Q called as she walked away. The familiar silver sparks of her footfalls were comforting enough that he listened to them as long as he could before turning to get himself a cup of tea.

            Work was easy, guiding 004 through a retrieval mission that was just complex enough to keep his mind where it ought to be. R brought him the files he needed without a word, and she kept the minions in line, and if she could just wipe that pitying look off her face when he glanced around every time the door opened, everything would be fine.

            He arrived at Moneypenny’s on time for once, and she sighed at him before gesturing to the wine on the table and the queued up episode of Doctor Who. “Go on, then. You need to talk about it, it’s not like last time where he barely existed to you before he disappeared.” She hit mute and then play, leaning back in her seat with one eye on Q.

            “Is it different though?” Q asked bitterly. “I’ve been dreaming I was there every night since he was shot. I keep waiting for him to show back up. But he doesn’t, and just like last time he’s not going to turn up until he’s good and ready. And he doesn’t have a reason to. This is the same thing he always pulls.”

            “That’s what he does. Runs away, kills people, gets killed, somehow manages to come back. The rest of us learn to function without him around. It’s not that different from missions. Hell, even M is just waiting for him to come back this time. I’m just glad I didn’t kill him this time.”

            “I’m used to the missions. They never bother me, even when he does something moronic. Not even that first time. I was aggravated, but I was still in his ear. He uses toys I helped make. This is different. And I can’t even bury the fucker and move on because one of these days he’ll walk through my door!” The words burst out one after another, as sharp and rapid as gunfire, and Eve flinches back.

            There’s a long moment of silence before she speaks. “Do you ever wonder if maybe this time is the last time?”

             Q shook his head and picked up his glass of wine, downing it quickly. “I can’t. If I let myself think that he’s not coming back, I’ll never be able to go back to my flat. Fuck, I think he has more stuff there than at his own place. And if he doesn’t…I don’t know. I’ll have to set the entire building on fire as an effigy. Or the country. If he’s really gone, then England should miss him properly.”

            Eve looks alarmed, and he could see her mentally scheduling him an appointment to speak to someone before he snaps and decides he’d rather take over small countries. “Please don’t burn down the flat, I’m not letting you stay here again after last time. Or the country, M would be displeased.”

            Q smiles, but there isn’t any humor in it. “I’m giving him three months. He was gone five last time, if he can’t speed up his timeline a little this time, then he’s not getting any of his shirts back.”

            “You said it yourself. Does he have a reason to come back quickly, Q?”

            “I don’t know. I thought so. Even if we don’t…we’re not in love, or anything. But I care for him, you know that. You’ve seen how I talk about him, like I want to punch him and kiss him and make him a shiny new gun all at once.”

            Eve laughs along, but she also makes him see Doctor Hall a week later for their standard ‘fuck we don’t want to have to give your job away, please still be mostly sane’ exam. The rapidfire exchange of words is something, at least, that Q doesn’t have to think very hard about.

            “Computer.”

            “Home.”

            “Agent.”

            “Work.”

            “Eve.”

            “Red.”

            The questions continue until the good doctor decides that Q isn’t going to crack or defect, and Q would call Sherlock up to complain about the whole thing if everyone in his life hadn’t decided that faking their death was suddenly in style.

            Two more weeks pass before Q started searching for Bond in earnest, rapid white keystrokes flashing behind his eyes at all hours of the night as he looks for something, anything to give him a clue. M doesn’t know, wouldn’t approve of it. He would sit Q down and tell him that Bond will either come back in his own time or not at all. Q’s seen Bond’s concept of ‘soon’, but he can’t wait forever.

            The interns slowly learn that these days you need to catch Q’s eye if you want something. His headphones come out only for Eve and Tanner, and his lip reading is good enough that everyone else somehow scrapes by with few incidents.

            Three months pass. Bond doesn’t come home. An obituary is placed in the back of a paper, under an assumed name as Bond, James, has been legally dead for some time already.

            Q doesn’t burn down the flat or move in with Moneypenny. He simply packs up in the dead of night, severs his lease, and sets up in a room in the rat maze that is the back side of R & D.

            (Two months later when Bond knocks on a door, it’s to find strangers who have never heard of him and do not appreciate being woken at half past two.)

**Author's Note:**

> It's been a while, loves, but I always intented to come back to this verse eventually. This is just a set up for the next chaptered fic, which I hope to get started shortly now that I know where I want to take it. Thanks as always to my beta, captainoflifeandlemons. If you happen to be in the mood for an angsty 00Q soundtrack, I just happen to have one: http://8tracks.com/queerlullabies/someone-always-dies
> 
> Again, I do not have Synesthesia. The information I've gathered on it comes from both first hand accounts and research, though if I've gotten anything seriously wrong please feel free to leave a comment here or message me at queerlullaby.tumblr.com.


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